When it comes to business casual, tech execs have always been the thin edge of the wedge. But since the COVID blip, workplace dress codes are morphing right down to the ground, literally, as sports shoes sneak into the boardroom.
Apparently this trend goes all the way to the corner office. From controversial sneaker sightings in the Oval Office to (then Transport Minister) Omar Alghabra’s Adidas at the G7 and Prime Minister Trudeau’s outspoken Nike Dunks, boardroom kicks are clearly not just a Mark Zuckerberg thing any more.
As for drop-dead street style, the only thing better than a new pair of sneakers is one that looks new but is actually old. Authentic, in-the-box vintage kicks are the ne plus ultra of celebrity fashion, closely followed by meticulous reissues of iconic shoes of decades past.
But how did simple sneakers become such objects of desire?
“When people ask me what is the nascency of sneaker culture, I always point to the ‘70s,” says Elizabeth Semmelhack, director and senior curator at Toronto’s Bata Shoe Museum, and a leading authority on sneakers.
American companies were continuing to make rubber-soled canvas sneakers, as they had done for decades, but suddenly two German companies – Adidas and Puma – began to make much sleeker, more colourful shoes, often in leather, she says. “Nike gets into the game in ‘72 as well.”
Semmelhack has curated two sneaker exhibits at the museum, including “Future Now: Virtual Sneakers to Cutting-Edge Kicks,” which closes in October of 2023; she has also explored the sneakerhead obsession in numerous books.
Intersection of basketball, rap and hip-hop
In the 1980s, the Me Generation’s obsession with “perfecting itself” and the accompanying fitness craze created a market for these new sports shoes, she says. But the panache of New York’s urban Black cultural scene was the most important factor in transforming sneakers from practical and wearable to collectible luxury. The potent intersection of basketball, rap and hip-hop subcultures attracted the notice of major brands.
Trendsetters like the break-dance group Rock Steady Crew and the movie Flashdance increased the cachet of specific sneakers, and the market for deadstock – unsold merchandise languishing in original boxes – grew.
Then in 1985, Nike, which had focused on running, decided to get into the basketball arena, says Semmelhack. As documented in the recent film Air, the Air Jordan shoe was a game-changer.
“What Nike did with the Air Jordan 2 was to make it look nothing like the Air Jordan 1 and 3,” she says. “That created desire that now has burgeoned into the collecting that we see today.”
I make 'shoe contact' before I make eye contact.
Collector Justin Vilafana
In 1986, Adidas made history by becoming the first shoe company to partner with a rap group, Run-D.M.C., cementing “that interlacing of hip-hop, basketball and sneakers, which has now gone worldwide,” says Semmelhack. Manufacturers began collaborating with fashion designers, artists and celebrities.
The Nike Air Yeezy (Kanye West’s brand) has sold at auction for US$1.8 million; the 24K gold OVO x Air Jordan, a collaboration with Drake, has topped $2 million, and Michael Jordan’s own Air Jordan 13 sneakers, worn in the finals of his 1998 “Last Dance” season, sold at Sotheby’s for $2.2 million.
“Serious sneakerheads are a kind of historian or intelligentsia,” Semmelhack says.
‘Buy and hold’ sneaker investor
One such is Aly Dhalla, tech entrepreneur and co-founder and CEO of Toronto-based Finaeo Inc. A self-described buy-and-hold sneaker investor, he also owns – and even wears – a personal collection.
“For me, sneakers can be an asset class, but they are more to me as art,” he says. “When I have a life milestone, I will buy a pair of shoes, and every time I look at them, I remember that moment.”
Dhalla’s appreciation for sneakers stems from his ‘90s childhood, when Michael Jordan’s Chicago Bulls were “everything.” Nike’s Jordan line is his preferred shoe.
“To me, the Jordan 11 Concord is the most beautiful shoe ever made. It’s a high-top with this beautiful patent leather surround,” he says.
Of recent rereleases, “the Jordan 1 Lost and Found is a shoe I wear all the time. It’s an ode to the 1985 Jordan 1. Even the box looks like it’s worn, and inside it has what looks like a handwritten invoice.”
But the days of lining up for sneakers are almost gone, Dhalla says. “A lot of smart people have built bots that will digitally purchase the shoes,” he says. He hopes major manufacturers will go back to releasing more stock into brick-and-mortar shops, “like the glory days.”
A jewel in the collection
Another collector, Justin Vilafana, a clinical collaboration lead with the pharmaceutical company Hoffmann-La Roche in Kitchener, Ont., says he owns about 70 pairs.
“Some are my daily shoes, some I have on a shelf that I’ll wear on specific occasions, and some I have in a box just to see where they go” in the resale market, he says.
His first purchase was a pair of Jordan 3s. “Those were my everyday shoes, because I loved them so much,” Vilafana says. “If I knew back then what I know now, I probably would have put them in a box and never worn them again.”
True sneakerheads are quick to notice what other people have on their feet, he says. “It’s such a culture! People know when they see a certain shoe. My wife and my children laugh – I make ‘shoe contact’ before I make eye contact.”
Does Elizabeth Semmelhack, who’s seen and handled them all, have a dream shoe?
“If I found a pair that was so important,” she says, “I could never wear them; I would have to have them for the museum.”
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